Magic vs Magick
by LaMissile
Summary: Alistair the magicain, of the rabbit in a hat kind, and his daughter Elita need Willow badly or Elita will die. This is what devotion can do.T for safety. Sometime in season 6. Bartimaeus appearance later on, but he doesn't affect anything, for people who
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Hah! If I owned Buffy, would I be doing this now? No.

A/N: This did not come to me from watching any of those new magician-y type movies. No resemblance is intentional because I haven't watched them. Look up the name Elita and you'll find out why I named her that. Even better, review and tell everybody else. Don't look up Alistair, I only used it because my family has a sentimental attachment to it. _Magic vs. Magick _is my NaNoWriMo for my English class. If you don't know what-the-hey I just wrote, don't worry, you're not missing much. My word count goal is 15000.

On with the show

Alistair took one look in the mirror and snorted out a laugh. He looked so unlike himself, his own mother wouldn't even recognize him. Black and red velvet, shiny saddle shoes and an Abe Lincoln-esque top hat was not his style. Why did magicians have to wear capes anyway? Was that a fake carnation on the hat brim? He was going for cheap, not ridiculous.

"Never thought I'd sink this low," Alistair murmured to himself. Nobody would hear him, he might as well have screamed. His girlfriend had left a few months ago, thinking (correctly) that he was a failure. Alistair frowned at his reflection clothed in secondhand….patheticness. Moving on was the best thing to do with his life.

At least he had a job today. A gig at an orphanage was one of the easiest of shows. It was a pity he couldn't throw in some true magick, but difficult questions were always possible even with kids. Maybe something simple would pass - not that he could do anything else.

The magician stepped away from his bathroom mirror. How he was going to sneak down the apartment complex stairs was something Alistair didn't want to think about. Neighbors kept giving his top hat and tails funny looks. Sprinting was probably the best option, if the elevator was on the blink. Again.

Alistair made it to his car, his pride and joy, which technically was the only thing in his life which was in decent shape. One last check in the mirror; Alistair was well aware of his vanity. Smooth black hair in a low, short pony tail, trim goatee and not one hair out of place. "All good." He really had to stop talking to himself or it would become a habit. Eh, go with the flow. "Come on, get me to my paying customer," the magician pleaded his car, which didn't need it, but couldn't hurt.

It was amazing how many people thought leaving their kids somewhere in California would instantly make them movie stars. Miles from any big city like LA and kids were still abandoned. Almost all ended up in bad hands and lucky ones went to homes or orphanages. This particular orphanage was in better shape than their entertainer's apartment building and the tenants were nicer, too. Alistair could see that the instant he pulled into the drive. A middle-aged woman bustled up to him as soon as he got out of the car. She must have had very bad eyesight because she was continually squinting.

"Amazing Alistair, correct? Excellent, excellent. Let me help with your equipment."

She had picked the trunks up before he had time to grimace at his totally unoriginal stage name.

"It's heavy, I should carry it," he protested. The woman had hastened away with her back ramrod straight and no effort shown in her task. When Alistair called, she stopped in her tracks and gave a squinty-eyed glare over her shoulder and then continued on, looking determined. The magician shrugged and carried his remaining bag inside.

There weren't many rooms inside the home, but there was a decent-sized party area in the attic. Large wood beams crossed the plastered ceiling and a low stage was set up for Alistair. It didn't stop him from noticing that it looked surprisingly like a whitewashed hayloft.

The woman had taken his bags up the stairs and into this space without word. Alistair was startled when she began speaking.

"The house was built in 1967 and was refurbished in the 90s. We take great pride in this excellent building and the children like to see people perform up here very often." The woman, perhaps the matron, spoke like she had swallowed a tour guide. Some human expression entered her voice when she continued, "Please, _don't_ perform anything unsuitable for our younger children. Nightmares are not needed here." The matron straightened her already over-strained back and reverted back to her inner tour guide. "If you should require anything else before your excellent little show don't hesitate to ask. How much time do you require to assemble your equipment?" She kept on squinting, though she was directly in front of Alistair.

"About half an hour should work," Alistair said with as professional a voice as he could manage. He hoped the matron didn't notice his attempts at copying her perfect posture.

"Excellent. They will be here in thirty-two and a half minutes prompt," she declared without a glance at her watch. Her gaze softened and the woman wished him good luck before she departed, leaving a magician who felt stupidly honored to be wished luck by her.

Alistair turned towards his stage and set up his show in twenty-nine minutes and inflated balloons for exactly three and a half. Then the kids entered. They were all shapes and sizes, the oldest maybe fifteen and the youngest about three. Happily, the youngest grabbed balloons and sat cross-legged in front of the stage. Alistair felt a tingling at the back of his neck. He was probably the worst magician in California, but he had at least dabbled in true magick enough to recognize power when he felt it. It was one of the kids.

Alistair had never been particularly good at thinking on his feet. This was an emergency, though, so he had to do his best. While making a rabbit pop out of his hat, he noted that this was a kid's untrained, raw power that could either be misused or deadly if it literally imploded inside. A likely possibility if it was left undisciplined. While twisting a balloon into a crown, the magician figured he ought to find this kid and train him/her as best he could. Adoption was the only way for this person to be trained, Alistair supposed, whether he could afford to or not.

Halfway through his program, it came to the card tricks. He held out the fanned trick deck to a young girl about eight years old. The girl took one look at the deck and picked the ace of clubs. As her hand drew away Alistair could feel her ebb and flow of enormous power.

"Now, don't show me, let everybody else look." She turned and obeyed. "What's your name?" He leaned in to catch her answer.

"Elita," she said quietly. Alistair smiled to her.

'_Hello, Elita, my daughter. I'll do my very best to protect you.'_

A/N: I'll give you a present if you review to say what an ace of clubs means. If you're having trouble picturing Alistair, think of a shorter (like he could be taller) Numair Salmalin, if you've read Tamora Pierce's _Immortals_ trilogy. If that doesn't work google 'Belbin and Agosto' and find Ben Agosto's picts from last season, ex: anything from the Olympics. The similarities are scary. Buffy and co will be present next chapter. I think I'll throw in Bartimaeus later on. Ideas on what to do with his footnotes, anybody?

Review pretty please and share your thoughts and feelings.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: We find Buffy in this chapter. I don't exactly remember the location of the ice rink in Sunnydale and other details, so bear with me.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own anything but Alistair and Elita. Hm. Déjà vu.

* * *

"I'm an ice skater! I go to lessons! I have coaches! I'm gonna be Irina!" Elita was spinning again. Alistair was worried she was going to fall over at any minute. His daughter was so much happier than when he first found her. She didn't need a bump on the head however, that wouldn't help. 

"How many medals will you win for me?" the magician caught Elita, dumping her on the couch and removing her precious skates from her grasp in quick motions. The house they occupied now was very new and the last thing it needed was a dent in the hardwood floors from dropped skates.

"A million, gillion golds." She went to seize her skates, but Alistair blocked her arm. Elita sent him a very accusative glare. He stared right back at her, "You know you have to meditate."

The girl knew, but she hid behind her unruly short brown hair and said sullenly, "You told me things would be different here in Sunnydale. That there's a witch waiting to help me."

Alistair had had this conversation with her already. "Yes, I did. Until I find her, you will meditate, like always." Elita gave him one last pitiful look and drew herself into the cross-legged meditation position which Alistair wished she didn't have to know. He copied her and reached for her small hands. They chanted the words neither could translate, trusting it as they had in the past year to split her magic between them. It didn't have pleasant side affects, but it was better than her imminent demise.

Half an hour later, Alistair woke from where he'd passed out. He checked at his watch, they were going to be late again for Elita's lessons. They had also broken their previous record for time spent unconscious. This was getting more difficult as she gained power. His daughter groaned and curled into a tighter ball. Alistair shook her gently awake. She opened one eye and asked groggily, "Did we beat it?"

He nodded, "We're late now, too." That woke her up. Elita bounced to her feet and tugged her elder onto his. "Come on, let's go. I don't wanna a drink." She said when Alistair had opened his mouth to ask. "Dad, move, I'm laaate!" Elita rushed to the door and then doubled back when she noticed the absence of her skates. Alistair pressed them into her arms as she sprinted past, causing her to do a rapid about-face and still manage to be out the door and in the car before him.

"Buckled up?" he asked, checking his own belt. "Yes, yes, yes. Go, go, go, go." Elita accentuated each word with a kick to the back of his seat and an extra for good measure.

"Eli, I'll go very slow if you do that again." He warned. She grumbled back an apology.

They reached the rink peacefully and without bringing the UN in on the matter. He walked her into the building after parking the Lexus safely. His old car would have attracted less attention and Alistair had felt sad to see it go, but he had been feeling silly in Sunnydale with a car that had more rust than paint. Even if it was reliable and … he caught himself feeling nostalgic again. Elita looked up at him; she was uncanny with emotions. "I liked that car." he said defensively "And it's all I have to be sad about." She gave him a "psychiatrist look" but grinned and messed it up. What did he want with the past anyway?

X

Buffy wanted to indulge herself. In her occasionally normal mind, that meant one thing: shopping. The slayer was on her way back now from some out-of-town outlets. It wasn't a rush hour, so the bus was barely occupied. She sighed and slumped in her seat. Three more stops till home, where the buffalo roamed and all the demons played. The vehicle lurched to a stop, jolting her out of her thoughts. This was the stop were the ice rink was, the place that had made some hard years of her life easier. Well… she had time.

Buffy got off the bus.

It was amazing what cold air could do for you. She sat in one of the over-used chairs overlooking the ice. This was where the anxious parents sat and watched there kids practice. Buffy wasn't anxious, she felt close to tranquil, but wished she was wearing something she could skate in. Those were lessons anyway, not something where anyone could hop on. Girls were whooshing around to talk with friends in other classes. The rare boys had expressions with different degrees of terror or defiance. One girl was spinning and laughing with another. She was freezing, turning a little blue that Buffy's slayer enhanced vision could easily see. The other looked around and rubbed her thigh like she had fallen. When her hand came away, she was holding a scarf. Buffy leaned forward, sure she had missed something.

The guy beside her stiffened suddenly. The blonde looked over to him. "Hey. You okay?" she asked. He looked at her, startled, "I'm alright. My… leg just fell asleep. You know, it got tingly." The guy looked distracted.

Buffy shrugged, weird things happened all the time but being paranoid wouldn't help. She settled back and relaxed. When the lesson ended, Buffy knew it was time to leave her happy place and go home. She picked up her bags and entered the stream of leaving kids. The man who had sat next to her was talking to his little girl.

Buffy didn't mean to eavesdrop, really. "That was a nice scarf." He whispered while propelling his daughter towards the door. She looked a little nervous, "Sara was cold. It's my own anyway; I didn't make a new one." Buffy barely caught his response before the door closed behind them. "Eli, no magic…"

Magic? No way, that girl was way too young to be a witch. Buffy kicked herself for hallucinating. She grumbled while heading for the door, "Get on that bus and back home before someone finds a straightjacket in your size, Buffy." She'd ask Willow if there was any news of different witches on the scene.

A/N: This suffers from chronic lack of action. It gets better, I promise. I'm a skating addict and determined fan of Irina Slutskaya, that's why I put her in. Any suggestions on how to write Bartimaeus's footnotes are still desperately needed. Give me reviews, reviews, reviews and HELP!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Happy Turkey Day! Bartimaeus' grand debut into this likkle fict. If you've never heard of him in your life, you're fine; he doesn't affect the plot that much and almost no references are made to his past. Not sure why I put him in at all really…

Disclaimer: Read carefully, now. I don't (don't, I really don't) own Buffy. Honest.

Alistair didn't like to leave Elita behind, even when he went to places like the grocery store. She might get really bored, but the last time he left her at home, the girl decided to Glamour things. Then she couldn't remember what she witched. It had taken them weeks to find the microwave. Also, teleporting a scarf wasn't allowed.

On the way back from one of those grocery trips, they found what they had been looking for. "American Pie ice cream! Thank you, thank you, thank you Dad." Elita had developed the overwhelming power of puppy eyes. She ended up riding the shopping cart back to the car, too.

The magician and his daughter started back home. Elita was in the back seat, forehead pressed against the window, as usual. She still wasn't used to Sunnydale and was trying to see all the buildings. "Dad, stop. Come on, pull over now." Alistair panicked. "Whoa, what is it Eli?" He stopped in the shoulder.

"Look at her." She pointed at a red-headed woman carrying some books walking on the side walk. "She's like, wow, so powerful." Alistair glanced at his daughter, who in turn was staring slack-jawed at the woman. "How can you tell?" he whispered. He supposed their quarry couldn't hear them, but it felt like the right thing to do. Elita just made some hand motions like she was illustrating the outline of a person. Then she pried her eyes away long enough to ask, "Is she the witch we're looking for? Go ask."

Alistair paused. He really hadn't thought that far ahead. What if there was an evil witch in Sunnydale, too? What do you ask, 'Hi, my daughter will die if you're not an insanely powerful witch.'? Lacking this type of thinking, he said "Ummm."

X

Willow was in full research mode and that made her happy. To complete her day, she visited the Magic Box. If Willow could dance the Snoopy dance like Xander, she would. On her way back now, one thing came through her euphoria. She felt a glow towards her back. It was getting closer meaning it, or maybe he or she, was either flying, driving or tunneling very quickly. Willow didn't really want to know. She tried to walk faster, but how fast could you go carrying three different tomes that took hundreds of years to write?

Glancing over her shoulder, all she noticed was a parked car, maybe broken down, and some nasty looking road kill. Eeww. Against the window she saw a cute little girl and some guy in the front seat. Willow didn't stop, especially since they were staring straight at her. And something was bothering her about the tingly, glowing feeling at her back. The woman already knew it meant power, but it was separated. If it was that strong divided, it would be Einstein bright when it was reunited.

The witch was really steamed now. She took a side alley, not as safe from muggers, but it would get her to Buffy's house quicker and it would stop that car from following her.

When she reached her friend's house, she exploded, narrowly restraining herself from destroying the flower vase on the table. "A little girl! That evil …_worm_ stole it! How could he, I mean, she's so young!! Ahh!" There went the flower vase. She collapsed and gave a racking sob.

Tara and Buffy reached Willow instantly. Buffy sat across from Willow and went through automatic damage report. Finding no injuries besides the apparent emotional ones (and the vase, but nothing in the Summers' household lasted long anyways), she turned her attention fully towards her friend. Willow was in Tara's arms, burying her face into her girlfriend's neck.

"Ssshh, Will baby, its okay. Just take a few breaths and tell us everything. Come on, it's okay, it's alright." Willow didn't want to move, but with a sigh, she did anyway so her words wouldn't be muffled. Glaring viciously at the coffee table, the witch told what she knew.

Buffy had a nagging thought at the back of her brain. Trying to find it, she questioned, "This guy, what did he look like?"

Willow replied, "I really couldn't see that much through the windows. But-but he had dark brown hair, it was sorta long and in a ponytail and he looked a little older than us. Sorry, Buffy that's all."

She shrugged. That thought wasn't coming to anything-it was probably nothing. "That's fine. If he's the new evil we'll find him soon, you know that, right?"

Willow looked grim, "It's just that little girl. I know I can help her and I will, before that magic-stealer does anything else to her. Goddess, I don't even want to think about that." Holding Tara's hand for strength, she met Buffy's eyes and declared her resolution, "I'll teach her everything. We'll be her mothers, me and Tara."

The slayer leaned forward in her seat and said fiercely, "I know you will. I'll make it happen."

X

As the newly found witch hurried away, Elita turned an angry glare towards her father. "You let her get away!" she hissed, narrowing her brown eyes. "We might never see her again! Is that what you want?" She was trying not to tear up and not succeeding.

Alistair hadn't come up with a brilliant plan. He had sat there like an idiot now his beloved girl was angry. Cursing himself mentally with words he hoped she didn't know, he tried to reach for her but had his hand pushed away. Alistair unbuckled his seat belt and twisted into a better position on his genuine leather seat. Elita was gazing lugubriously out the window in the direction her hope had gone. She sniffed pathetically.

Her father took a deep breath and began, "Eli, I don't want you to suffer, but I didn't think this through. I'm unprepared. I don't know anything about Sunnydale, I don't know if there's more than one witch and I just couldn't think of what to do. I hope you'll forgive me."

Dully, and still looking at the scenery, Elita responded, "What are we going to do?"

X A little later X

"A demon? But you've never summoned." The conversation was a strange, choppy one due to the fact that both were carrying in the groceries and could only talk when one passed the other. So, when Elita said this, Alistair had to quickly respond, "It's in the book." A minute later, "Which demon?"

Alistair closed the trunk with a bang and carried in the last bag, saying "I don't know yet, I've never translated that section.", as she held the door open for him. "Thank you." She made an off-kilter curtsy and remarked, "You're welcome. Translations are boring. I hope we don't need another dictionary" He turned and laughed quietly, "Yes, all those English dictionaries. I've never gotten the hang o' dis language." Elita gave a small smile, still unhappy after the ride home. Alistair deeply regretted her misery.

After unpacking, the magician opened one of his most advanced books, which they called _Summoning for Dummies_. He pointed out the first one he saw without a gory picture (there weren't many) and said "There, he'll do." Elita looked over his shoulder, "Huh? He destroyed armies! We don't want to hurt her!" She was getting worried again.

Alistair dog-eared the page lightly and closed the book. He turned his head to look at her and nearly sneezed when some of her wild brown hair tickled his nose. When he recovered he replied, "We also don't know what she'll do about a demon following her. We need one strong enough to escape capture or survive if she tries to incinerate him. We want the demon to be intelligent enough to evade her spells. This" he poked at the handwritten translation "Bartimaeus djinn will do just fine. But he needs a nickname."

The girl looked puzzled, "Incinerate?" she asked. Alistair clarified, "Burn up." She nodded. "I want Barty. It's better than Tim. I can't see a demon named Tim." Her father shifted in his chair, looking guilty. He mumbled softly, "Barty's fine."

X (another 'little later' because you deserve longer chapters, don't you?) X

Elita watched the magician working with magic not generally used onstage. She was bored and there was only so much you could drum on your knee. Playing with her hair, she wondered why she had even bothered asking to watch, it wasn't that interesting. It really was a waste of her pleading talents. "Can I pretty please light the candles or something, Dad?" she whispered. Alistair didn't even stop his possibly Latin chanting, just glanced over the text and shook his head slightly. Elita slumped down.

She wasn't bored for long. Her father's voice reached a climax and than shouted out the demon's name "Bartimaeus!" Elita barely restrained herself from echoing "Barty!" It would probably only be funny to her, anyway. With a super dramatic puff of smoke and a faint smell of fire and brimstone, a large angry…footstool appeared. Alistair twitched and offered his explanation, "Maybe he spent time in the Ottoman Empire." Elita was flabbergasted and then commented sternly, "Dad, you have summoned furniture."

They waited for the footstool to move and after a few seconds were rewarded. "You see Bartimaeus the djinni, Serpent of the Silver Plumes, who has spoken with Solomon and built the walls of Prague. I have survived for 5,000 years and would like to spend as much time as possible in the Other Place, not on this disgusting, cramped world. Oh, get on with it!" He began to change into a very racy nymph form and then simultaneously noticed Elita and the beginning lines of a rather painful punishment spell. Bartimaeus shifted into the much less objectionable appearance of a teenager with oily black hair in an expensive looking designer suit that was way too big for him. "Why is there a kid here? Have I suddenly become an exhibit?" Elita was too fascinated to take offense; she had never seen a demon before.

Alistair ignored his comments after he decided that the djinn's current state was decent. The djinni certainly was fond of strange forms. The master commanded his servant, "I charge you, Barty, to watch and report on the affairs of the witch in this town. We believe her to have red hair and be in her early twenties. Return here when you know where she lives and what she does." The djinn looked to be in a daze. "Barty?! Well, that's different. Are you sure you've got the right djinn?" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Come back as soon as you have something useful and I'll dismiss you." Alistair said as forcefully as he could manage, also not used to demons. Bartimaeus rolled his eyes and replied condescendingly, "Is it ever any different?" Then he pointed out of his pentacle at Elita. "I still want to know why she's here." The fingernail was sharpened and black; it grew out unnaturally long, straight towards Elita's face. Finding this very disturbing, Alistair yelled "Out!! Now!" Bartimaeus grumbled, "Overprotective. Helicopter parenting is destructive to a developing child's psyche", and flew out the open window as a crow.

Elita grinned at her father, "He's weird. I thought he'd be scarier, though." Alistair agreed, he didn't want to teach his daughter about djinni, he would never understand them at all if they were all this bizarre.

A/N: Barty's POV in the next chap and I need all the help on his footnotes I can get. Review please and give a developing author a hand. Early thanks.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Eternally Night asked me 'who's Barty'. He is a wonderfully cynical demon called a djinn. Djinni get summoned and must remain loyal to the summoner or suffer some kind of punishment spell until they are dismissed. Barty's double thoughts/footnotes are in parentheses. As I tried to say/write in the summary, Barty really doesn't talk much about his past or the rules of his universe, which I am messing with. So people that have never read _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_ by Jonathon Stroud, worry not, this fict is yet to be altered significantly by him. It's a very good series, btw.

Disclaimer: I own not the characters of the excellent show of Joss'. Nor have I Bartimaeus and his peculiar forms.

I like crows almost as much as I like hawks (there was the one time in the desert, I scouted for the pharaoh…You don't really care. Oh well) This is an undercover job, however, and a hawk belonging in Egypt is more likely to be noticed than a simple black crow. I swooped down to land on a rooftop near some shops. I was looking for a twenty year old redheaded woman and this was probably the best place to start. (Young women means shopping, even a djinni as old as me knows that.) Now, a redhead…

There's one, so I fly down on my midnight feathers to check closer. Oh, a drag queen. Whoops. I suppose my master could have made a mistake if I could, but then again, he did have a daughter. He should know the difference by now (On the other hand, he doesn't know Bartimaeus, a most noble statement, from _Barty_ which I don't have any nice words for at all.) I do want to know why the girl was there when I, BARTIMAEUS, was summoned. If there was a Bring-your-Child-to-Work Day for magickly adept, I might understand. It's just very rare to have a welcoming party, particularly one so young.

Returning to my post, I decided to scan the crowds until I could think of another area my prey could escape my sight. Without hesitation, my brilliant self finds a way. She's a witch, so she would gravitate towards the magic supplies. Time to find a directory.

I love this town (sarcasm); it has everything you need right under your nose (or beak). A handy big map screaming of 'Sunnydale Shopping Center and other Stores' and assorted pamphlets is off to my left, next to a diminutive shop selling explicitly pens. One leaflet falls open at my gentle shove, showing a description of everything you could want. I narrowed my search down to 'Magical Peace' with its blabbering of how one must follow the footsteps of the ancients and achieve this through communication in crystals only found there and 'The Magic Box' which was more broad and stated that it had 'general magical supplies for the practical wiccan'. A useful caption next to this pictured a young redheaded woman holding a book and grinning ridiculously. Coincidence? I think not.

A scrawny mutt with a pamphlet in his jaws was spotted padding down an alley that led directly to The Magic Box.

When I arrived at my destination, I was a little surprised at the lack of anti-shapeshifter demon defense. It was embarrassing to find something I could have broken into before I turned 200. Overconfident and careless, that's what I called it. It hurts my feelings to know my djinni brethren have been so slack on the job. With that thought, my slobbery leaflet flopped to the ground as a swirl of smoke whisked beneath the door.

My smoky self drifted across the floor and accidentally got an interesting view up a short black skirt. I scooted out from under there (cross species relationships don't work for me.) It obviously did, however, for vampire sitting by the table; he was looking at her as if she had saved the world. I went through a quick check of seven planes of sight I had access to. On the second (where auras are visible, easily reached by some spells) this motley assortment of humans took on a different look. One was a traitorous ex-vengeance demon with her arms around a human looking as dull as dirt. I'm talking really normal, brown, average Ph soil here. The demon was young however; she must have made a few bad decisions. Yet another blonde had a moderate amount of magick in her, a teen next to her that looked like a bouncing ball of energy turned out to be quite literal. This took me all of two seconds.

The woman who I had started out under was talking. "…still searching for power switcheroo spells that actually work. Tara, are you coming, or will the research party here only lose me?" The witch nodded and picked up her bag, which had papers overflowing it. She didn't think to ask the smoke. I would follow her anyway, if there was another witch here, she didn't have an aura to show it.

These people need to drag themselves into the twenty-first century and get a car. Walking takes far too long, especially at a human rate.

It paid off. We reached our destination, the short non-witch blonde's home, where I had to wait for a few hours until my target human arrived. It was late at night by then and I can tell you, masters get crankier as the night wears on. So I stayed, because I am not willing to risk an angry master with an arsenal of painful spells. That house is an education in nighttime activities. I never knew bubble wrap could go _there_ (don't look at me like that, I heard the popping, alright?).

Dawn was heralded by a highly disturbed sparrow flying as fast as it's wings would take it towards it's master's home armed with the knowledge of a witch named Willow.

X(next night)X

It just had to be mass slayage that night. The bother that was Spike had worn Buffy out and the peace that it brought her had disappeared. She was back to angry now and she let her enemies know that very loudly. They were starting to feel rather victimized. Buffy couldn't even talk to Willow about anything, she was searching everywhere for the little girl. The woman wiped some drops of sweat off her forehead after dusting a final vamp.

Pleased with her stress relief, she turned to leave the messy alleyway in which she had found her now permanently departed vampire gang. While walking, Buffy heard somebody talking just outside her alley. All she could tell was that the voices sounded human and male.

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to."

"But it's mine. I should have some say."

"Who summoned who? Bartimaeus, it's too long. Why are you talking about this anyway, it's not changing. Oh, you're picking Elita up tomorrow, ok? I have to do another show too late to pick her up from school."

"How am I going to do that, exactly? My driver's license expired." That demon, because he must be if he was summoned, was smothered in sarcasm.

"Ever heard of a bus?"

"That's allowed in school, somebody they've never seen before, picking up a student?"

"I just got a new servant."

Summoned equaled demon equaled bad. Buffy knew that better than she knew her own name. What were they talking about anyway? Something was taking too long, probably a spell or rite. She could fight that, especially if that really was a demon talking. Buffy waited for them to pass the entrance to the lane, while hiding in the shadows. Demon and master were still conversing as they crossed in front of her.

"Keep her _safe_. That's an official charge. No talking to strangers and no buying… stuff."

"You don't trust me."

"That's true. You're soulless and untrustworthy."

They vanished into the highly clichéd night. Buffy needed one more thing, though. She jogged to catch up to and follow them. This man matched perfectly with Willow's description of the magic-stealer. Elita was probably that poor girl without her power. Buffy did not intend to find out what he needed it for.

They were headed towards the nicer part of town and eventually went inside a decent looking house. School ended at three thirty, if she remembered from her and Dawn's schooldays correctly. Good, she could have a stake out party in the afternoon. That would make a change.

X(next day)X

Alistair was driving along towards his client, a family whose youngest was having a birthday party. He was zoning out, thinking about Elita's birthday presents. He was jolted awake when a red convertible swerved and drove him off the road. Shaking, Alistair stopped in the shoulder and took some deep breaths. The other car pulled up next to him and a middle aged man got out. Alistair followed his lead. Then something large and heavy knocked him clean out. He drifted into sub consciousness hearing a British accent. "I never thought to teach you to swing a baseball bat. Good shot, Buffy."

Throughout the evening, Alistair saw brief visions of the witch he was beginning to think of as Willow, the British man and the sensation of being carried. The last one he remembered most clearly because Elita was in it. He saw her taken home by Bartimaeus, and waiting, waiting, waiting at home. When he awoke, Alistair saw a cement wall and manacles. He was chained to a wall, while Elita was home and worried. Pulling at his chains, the magician screamed as loud as his lungs would let him, "Elita!!!!!!!!"

A/N: My notes are too long. Just be grateful for the lack of speeches this chapter. I really don't have anything against Xander, I just don't think Barty would like him much.

Please Review.


	5. Countdown

A/N: Sorry this took so long; school's just so annoying sometimes. Therefore this chapter is dedicated to GCS. Eternally Night, try to find all the cameos!

Disclaimer: Haha, it's just cruel to shove it in my face. No, I have no ownership of joyous story that is BtVs. Nor GCS nor Coach nor public transport systems nor DSW nor ipods nor just about anything you can use a demonstrative noun to describe.

"I know I'm repeating myself, kid, but why _me_? Your dad just had to summon my eternally unlucky- yet strong and brave- self, and now _you_'ve started ordering me about. That's a bad way to go. On this path lies destruction." Bartimaeus nodded, agreeing with himself.

He was getting irritating, and Elita was starting to cast yearning glances towards the book of punishment spells. She was young and allowed to be impatient, anyways. Retrieving it from the shelves, Elita sat down again in what she thought was the puffiest chair in the universe. To Bartimaeus it was an interesting combination. There sat an incredibly young witch with a look on her face that could maim and kill beings twenty times her years, yet she was buried in pink and squishy overstuffed goodness. Bartimaeus knew enough not to underestimate her, but it was funny.

Elita growled out, "You will call the house Dad just worked at today. They wouldn't take my voice seriously or tell me bad news. You're the servant-DO IT, NOW!" Her fists were clenched tightly and her jaw was locked so firmly, her words had barely escaped her mouth. Bartimaeus obeyed, throwing a hasty salute and marching to the phone. She opened the scrap of paper the number was written on with stiff and jerky motions and threw it to the demon, who caught it.

"This button, that button, which button to press?" he mumbled to himself. Elita scowled and opened the book. She swiftly brushed a drop of sweat of her forehead and began.

Using the most formal voice she had, she read out loud "The Kuespert Voice-Wrencher. Used for overly talkative demons, namely with the gift of tongues or noisy poltergeists. Treatment also used for Aminas, out of kindness to its companions. Ooh, pictures."

Bartimaeus found the correct buttons because he was very proud of his voice.

The phone was answered by what sounded like a sleepy teen, despite it being dinnertime. "Hey, s Kristen."

Bartimaeus had once had the joy of knowing a demon that served as housekeeper to an especially prominent warlock. He modeled his voice after this horrifyingly polite and meek specimen of life, "This is Alistair the Amazing's staff calling to confirm his performance today."

All the sleep had left Kristen's voice when she answered, "God, he didn't even show up! Do you know what it's like to have a whole party of six year olds bored and waiting for a magician to come? I was the one who got stuck with the babysitting. For _four hours_. There was a sale at Coach and I couldn't go."

Bartimaeus needed to end this conversation before she started chatting about the latest shoe styles at DSW. "We'll be sure to give you a refund as soon as possible. Now-"

"Yeah, you better. Cause my parents are just a little pissed, ya know?"

"I'm _so_ sorry. Thank you, bye." He hung up with a shudder, then turned to face his diminutive mistress. Bartimaeus shrugged helplessly. Elita gave him a last stone cold glance before sobbing. Burying her face in her little hands, she started to bawl her brown eyes out. Bartimaeus shifted from foot to foot, not very good at sympathy. But he would do his best, he decided as he hugged her. Elita fell into his arms and cried.

X(Summers' House)X

Alistair finished off the last of his water. It had been thoughtfully set out by the cot. First he had not trusted it, being chained up does that to you, but as the day wore on and night began, thirst had started to become an issue. He had given up screaming a half hour ago, that had helped his parched throat. Any thoughts of Elita instantly made him yell for her, though, and it was a highly difficult thought to ignore. He pulled again at the chains which he knew were firmly planted in the cement brick wall.

"Why don't you try magicking them out?" Halfway down the stairs was the redhead he'd been searching for.

Alistair perked up; any slightly familiar face was great to see. "I really can't do that. Why don't you try?" He held out his tied wrists hopefully.

Willow looked down her nose at him. "You're going to stay right here until we decide it's time for you to go." She gave him a fierce glare. "Maybe even longer. You know why? Because you're a cruel, evil, nasty, bad man." She spat out her list of adjectives with vehemence. Alistair was getting little disturbed by this witch yelling at him. He tried to interject.

"What? What did I do?"

That was the wrong thing to say. "What did you do?! You stole her power! That poor little girl- I don't even want to know what you did to her. You disgust me, magick stealer. It's just sitting with you, wasting. Do you even know what pain you put her through?! For what? Nothing, absolutely nothing." Willow towered over the prisoner in her rage.

"For her own good. I-" He had absolutely no luck today. All the wrong phrases came to him.

"There is zilch, nil good that you have done for her. I can see it, you severely messed-up person. Another thing too, I hear you're a magician for the kiddies. That's really just wrong. Faking magick!" She was on a role.

He tried for the last time. "Willow, please, I wouldn't hurt Elita. Never."

Willow was infuriated. "That's Ms. Rosenburg to you, mister." She had always wanted to say that. "We'll find Elita and take her away from you. No more power source." The redhead took a deep breath; she was coming to the heart of matters now. "However, you can redeem yourself a little. Just tell us where she is and we'd be most grateful."

Alistair panicked- the last thing he wanted was to be separated from Elita. "No, no, no, no. You need me to…" He had a brainwave. "My demon! He'll guard her against anyone that isn't me. You don't want to mess with him; he's very old and strong. Let me come with you and I can order him not to attack you and Elita will tell you I'm not evil." He was proud of that plan, it wasn't bad.

Willow rocked back on her heels, unwilling to consider any option where Alistair wasn't evil. That was too good a speech to waste on an innocent. Every precaution had to be taken, though, and imprisoning him if he was undeserving was a big mistake. "I'll talk to Buffy." She turned to leave.

He was confused, then remembered the information Barty had provided him with. Alistair wondered if he'd ever risk Wi- Ms.Rosenburg's wrath to ask for a better description of the Slayer. He didn't even want to slip up in his mind, she was that intimidating.

X(Upstairs)X

"Well?" Buffy was standing by the stool near the counter in the kitchen. Willow took the seat with a small grin on her face. Tara came to sit next to her. Xander was washing his hands in the sink.

Tara spoke quietly. "We heard the yelling. What happened?" Wiping his hands on a small hand towel, Xander turned to face the gaggle of his girls.

Willow started, "Oh yes, I gave him a very fine yelling-at. He can't use his stolen magick and says he wouldn't hurt her. I told him we'd find Elita, the girl, and he panicked. He really wants her back."

"Maybe he's addicted or something." Dawn had entered. She grabbed an apple from the center bowl and bit into it. The crunching disrupted Willow's train of thought for a minute. Then it reminded her of the most important part.

"Oh, Buffy, he-he summoned a demon to guard Elita. He wants us to bring him along when we go find Elita. A trade, I guess, stopping a demon for taking him."

Xander gave a cough into his hand, "Ahmhm-trap-hm."

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. Tara looked up from her lap to say, "I think Xander's right, it does sound a little strange. Maybe if somebody else talked to him, get him to open up."

Dawn nodded and murmured, "Someone less scary." Willow smiled at the girl, who took another bite.

Xander went to get a drink from the fridge. "Why is there so much blood in here? If I didn't know better, I'd think one you got turned. Ooh, Coke, very non-bloody."

Buffy's eyes lit up as an invisible light-bulb turned on above her head. She knew exactly who to ask.

A/N: Now the countdown begins. To what, you ask? You'll see.

Oh, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Denali, etc.

Please review. It's the holidays.


	6. 3

3….

A/N: EN, it's that song. Hehe.

WARNING: Scenes of intense silly songs sung by drunk …people.

Disclaimer: Hohum. Who sues people as a Birthday present? Humbugs. I don't own what I'm typing, except for Elita and Alistair.

"You want me to wot, Slayer?" Spike could barely believe his ears. "D' you remember the last time I did that?" Buffy knew it probably sounded strange.

"Yes, Spike, I want you to get drunk. Actually, I need you to get our prisoner drunk."

He caught on to the plan fast. "To see if he spills the beans to me." The vampire completed her sentence.

Buffy nodded, "Uh-huh." Spike knew he would end up doing this eventually and as work went, it was almost the best he'd ever gotten from her. That didn't mean he couldn't press his luck.

"I suppose then, luv, if it's a fair trade, you'll be needing to do something for me." He leaned into Buffy's side and whispered close. Her eyes went wide.

"That's not fair at all, but you get points for creativity. Come at seven-ish with lots of beer. He's in the basement."

Spike shook his bleached head, "Wot's your house now, bloody Fawlty Towers? Seems you got the whole bunch in there."

Buffy considered this. "No, Giles has his house and Xander's got his place. Other than that..yeah." She shrugged. "Thanks, bye Spike." Buffy turned to go out of his crypt. He shot an arm out to block her exit. She ducked to go under, but he scooped her up and slung her on his shoulder for easy carrying. She started to protest but was cut off. "Spike!!! I've got stuff to do!"

He brought her over to the bed. "Now, now, now, Slayer. We have a deal."

Buffy was dumped unceremoniously on the sheets. "Do you even have that stuff here?" Spike gave a very smug smile. She kissed him passionately, forgetting her jobs at home. When they pulled away, Buffy whispered, "You are very, very bad." He liked that a lot.

X(Alistair's House)X

Bartimaeus' POV

"So…you split power with good old Alistair when? Every week?" I didn't get an answer. I'd been musing for over ten minutes and I needed to do something. Anything. Morris dancing was an intriguing possibility at the moment. Perhaps if I got a little bit more philosophical. "I suppose, in my great and learned opinion, that if you are the power and the power is you then if half of your power is taken away half of yourself ceases to exist. No?"

Finally, a reaction. Elita cracked an eyelid open and gave me a clear expression meaning, "Huh?" For these past excruciatingly boring minutes she had been in intense meditation worthy of a Tibetan monk (And I'd known a few. Sometimes I think all they've done is fallen asleep sitting up. Some college students would pay good money for skills like that). She settled back into her concentration and all my work at goading responses had been lost. My petite mistress was sitting cross-legged, hands on knees, even counted breaths, just trying to control her overflowing strength. Every few seconds she would brush the sweat pouring off of her from her eyes.

I leaned back in the puffy chair and made the "Pppff" sound for a while (what's it called, anyway? I dunno) Meditation stinks.

X(Summers' house 7:00)X

Spike sauntered up to the house where his very favorite person lived, without the usual arsenal. Instead, he carried _quite_ a few cans of beer. Almost before he knocked on the door it was opened without hesitation by a very happy Dawn. "Hi Spike. Come in."

Xander who, for beer-mooching purposes, was on the couch and ready to pounce at any sign of them, did just that, "Ooh, beer." He reached for the cans.

Spike shied away like Xander was sunlight. "Hey, hands off!"

He protested, not to be denied this treat. "One, just one, come on." Spike twisted in all different directions to guard the precious cans. Dawn stood by the stairs, thoroughly entertained by this spectacle.

Buffy arrived, noticed her sister instantly and stopped the show. Dawn pouted and retreated to her room. Buffy regarded the beer apprehensively. "Do we really need that much?" To her it looked enough to fill a bathtub. This was a terrible example for Dawn.

Spike said, "Well, Slayer, since you didn't say how big this bugger was, I thought it was best to be prepared." He growled at Xander, who had been using this distraction to sneak one free. Xander gave up after that.

"He's pretty average, except for the evil magick-stealer bit." She led the way towards the basement door. Spike reached for the handle and then a thought struck him.

"Hang on; what's this guy's name?" Buffy and Xander glanced at each other.

"Uhhh. We knew a few minutes ago. Umm." Spike didn't wait; instead he turned and went downstairs.

X(One hour later)X

"I'm tellin' you, they think I'm _evil_." Alistair was very drunk, which showed as he slurred out his sentence. He was slumped on the cot with empty beer cans at his feet like subjects bowing to their king. Spike appeared exactly the same- he had a lot of practice at faking this through the years.

"Evil, it's not tha' bad. In fact, I miss it sometimes. Oh God." He hunched over as nostalgia for the old days came over him. Alistair, though deep in his stupor, noticed his newfound friend's depression. He craned his head out towards Spike and stretched his chains to nudge the vampire's shoulder with his free hand. His other held his 6th can.

He whispered secretively, "I know just what you want to know." Spike looked up and raised his eyebrow.

"Oh. 's that right?" Alistair nodded vigourously.

"You want to know how to cheer up. I know just how." He whispered even quieter, making his slur more pronounced and much harder to hear, even for supernatural hearing. "Repeat after me." He straightened up and said louder and matter-of-factly. "I'm rowing away."

Spike was extremely confused. "I'm rowin' away."

"By a blue seashore."

"By a blue seashore."

"And a lovely sight do I see, see, see."

"An' a luvly sight do I see, see, see."

Alistair nodded encouragingly before becoming impatient and launching into the rest.

"I'm rowing away by a blue seashore and a lovely sight do I see, see, see

A lady fine an' damsels nine

Maybe they'll come with me

We're goin' away to a bright country only ruled by the land an' sea

To sing 's praises in hallowed halls

And meet many other gorgeous dolls

Now our portraits hang on 's walls"

He did not have a good voice. Maybe it was the beer.

Spike sat openmouthed, then started to chuckle with the appropriate amount of slur. "Jus' for tha', I'll pay f' the next beer." He raised himself wobbling. It took the joke a few seconds to breach Alistair's defenses. When it did, he collapsed in a fit of very manly giggles, after which he passed out.

Spike leaned over and checked the chained man's pulse to be sure he hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. When realizing he was fine, Spike went upstairs to share his news. Alistair wasn't plotting anything; he just wanted to see his daughter.

A/N: Review. Please, I feel neglected.

Do you know how difficult it is to make a British drunk accent? Very difficult. I don't know why I try.


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